There is a place where aether moves
a fog around the legless soul,
and whispers stories best forgot:
some cracked, some broken, and some whole.
Your ears will strain to hear each word;
your mind will wrap around each phrase.
bright sudden, causing stuporous daze.
There are just things you shouldn’t know
and still be walking on this plane;
things gently hushed from infant lips
by angels, when we’re born again.
Reason demands we keep aloof,
yet still we venture to the mist,
our curiousity unbound
by tales too tempting to resist.
Your voice will shape some ancient rime
you did not know you ever knew,
and somewhere far across the fog,
another voice will answer you.